"Bed." I managed, my legs weak around his hips, my voice barely a whisper. "We should probably make it to the bed."
"In a minute." He pressed a kiss to my lips, soft and sweet, nothing like the desperation of moments before. "Just let me hold you."
Eventually, he carried me to the bed, still tied together, and laid us down gently. The rut was finally, truly fading — I could feel it in the softening of his touch, the peace settling over his features, the way his scent mellowed into something warm and satisfied.
"Almost over." He murmured against my hair, his arms wrapped around me, his purr a constant, soothing vibration.
"How do you feel?" I pressed closer to him, exhaustion finally catching up, my body aching pleasantly.
"Complete." His arms tightened around me, his voice rough with emotion. "Like something that was broken finally got put back together."
I understood exactly what he meant. The rut had changed something between us. Something fundamental. I wasn't just his Omega anymore.
I was his match. His equal. His partner and that felt exactly right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ASTER
I woke to sunlight streaming through the window and the absence of fire. For the first time in what felt like forever, Reid's body wasn't burning against mine. His skin was warm — normal warm, human warm — and his scent had mellowed from the sharp, demanding musk of rut to something softer. Cedar and woodsmoke and satisfaction, with an undercurrent of tenderness that made my chest ache.
He was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. His dark eyes tracked over my face, my neck, my shoulders, cataloging something. It took me a moment to realize what.
The bruises.
They were everywhere — fingerprints on my hips, my thighs, my wrists. Bite marks on my shoulders that had bloomed into purple and blue overnight. Scratches down my arms from where I'd struggled against the sheets. Evidence of everything we'd done, written across my skin in shades of violence.
"I hurt you." His voice came out rough, cracked, his hand hovering over a particularly dark bruise on my hip without quite touching it, his jaw tight with guilt, his eyes shadowed with something that looked like self-loathing. "God, Aster, I hurt you. Look at you."
"You didn't hurt me." I caught his hand, pressed it flat against the bruise, felt the warmth of his palm against my skin, my voice firm and certain. "These aren't injuries. They're memories. Good ones."
"They're bruises." He pulled his hand back like my skin had burned him, his expression twisting with guilt, his shoulders curling inward, his scent souring with shame. "I was an animal. I took and took and I didn't?—"
"You gave." I sat up, ignoring the ache in my muscles, the pleasant soreness between my thighs, and cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes, my voice fierce. "You gave me everything I needed. Everything I asked for. Don't you dare apologize for that."
"But—" He tried to look away, tried to pull back, but I held firm.
"No." I kept my grip on his face, kept my eyes locked on his, my thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, my voice softening but no less certain. "I asked you not to hold back. I told you to give me everything. And you did. That's not something to apologize for. That's something to be grateful for."
Something cracked in his expression — the guilt fracturing, letting something else through. Something vulnerable and hopeful and terrified all at once.
"I've never..." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, his hands coming up to cover mine where they held his face, his voice rough with emotion. "No one's ever stayed. After. No one's ever wanted to see me like that and still be here in the morning."
"I'm here." I pressed my forehead to his, breathed in his scent — so much softer now, so much sweeter without the sharp edge of rut. "I'm not going anywhere. You showed me your worst, and I'm still here. That's not going to change."
He made a sound — something between a laugh and a sob — and pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. His purr rumbled to life, vibrating through both of us, and I felt something in him finally relax. Finally let go.
We stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped around each other, breathing together. Then he pulled back, his expression shifting to something more purposeful.
"Bath." The word was a statement, not a question, his hands already moving to help me stand, his touch gentle in a way it hadn't been for days. "You need a bath. Let me take care of you."
"Reid, I'm fine?—"
"Please." The word stopped me, the raw vulnerability in his voice making my chest ache. "Let me do this. I need to... I need to make sure you're okay. That I didn't..." He trailed off, his jaw working, his eyes dropping to the bruises on my wrists.
I understood then. This wasn't about me needing to be taken care of. This was about him needing to take care of me. Needing to soothe the guilt that was eating at him, to prove to himself that he hadn't broken something precious.
"Okay." I let him help me to my feet, let him wrap an arm around my waist when my legs wobbled, let him guide me toward the bathroom with careful, reverent touches. "A bath sounds perfect."
